The Tale of a Displaced Monarch
by lovenarnia
Summary: Edmund's views on England after he returns from Narnia. He has his hands full trying to make himself and his siblings appear normal. It doesn't work. Earlier chapters set between TLWW and Prince Caspian; later chapters after Prince Caspian. Movie-verse.
1. Chapter 1: Edmund's Diary

**Disclaimer: I am not C.S. Lewis, nor am I affiliated with him in any way. So far, I do not own any characters, and as for storyline, there is none. To the others here, forgive me if I subconsciously thought one of your ideas was so good that I had to put it in. I do not know of any, but an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, right?**

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><p><em>Dear Diary:<em>

_It's been rather difficult to adjust back to England, especially after getting accustomed to the country, and then having to come back to London. Cars still frighten me, and I wish for my trusty charger. _

_Everything seems different, somehow. We came back from the Professor's house only yesterday, and even though I've lived in London my entire life, I was still more at ease in the country. It was more like Narnia, I suppose._

_Even Mum seems different, although perhaps it's only the way I view her. Seems we're older, now, and we can understand her better than the children we seem to be are supposed to. She's confused, especially when she looks into Peter's eyes. That she sees his soul there at all surprises her, I think—he was always so reserved. But it must be strange to see the soul, not of her shy, timid boy, but a grown man. He's grown up—grown into a king. He's fought witches, battled ogres and minotaurs, and defeated giants. I seriously doubt she'd believe us if we told her that, though. Better to let her think he grew up from the horrors of war and the responsibility of caring for his younger siblings. In some ways, it's true. Wars—several, in fact—did shape him into the man he was. And caring for us, his siblings, as we grew from children to adults did figure into it. Of course, so did King Lune's wise counsel and Pete's extensive diplomatic experience. We aren't __lying__ to Mum—just not giving her all the details. She doesn't need to know. She wouldn't understand._

_She thinks we need to sleep eight hours! Doesn't she realize we used to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, having danced with dryads and fauns all night? Of course she doesn't. Not only do our tender years require eight hours of undisturbed sleep in a room lit by one of those awful night-lights, but we need a cup of warm milk before bed! Once I slipped up and told her I'd rather have spiced wine. Thankfully, she thought I was joking. Peter was looking daggers at me behind her back, and I hope I didn't look too frightened. _

_My old wounds have been aching again. I never had this much trouble with them in Narnia—perhaps because it was mainly sunny there. Here in England it's always cold and damp—even in summer. _

_The strange thing is that I __have__ no wounds. They hurt terribly, but they aren't there. The place where the Witch stabbed me with her broken wand is as smooth and clear as the rest of my body. Yet whenever I move, the old pain begins—burning and throbbing. Not exactly helpful when I'm signed up for the rugby team._

_Speaking of scars, only yesterday I got into a fight—I was sorely provoked, I'll have you know—and I broke my nose. Unfortunately, Mum was there, and at the sight of all the blood gushing from my nose, she looked rather sick. So did Su, but Lu just calmly reached over and stopped the bleeding with her handkerchief while Peter set it. This is the twentieth time I've broken my nose, so this is routine procedure._

_Mum, however, insisted on taking me to the doctor and having me carefully examined. _

"_By the Mane, this is too much!" exclaimed Lucy in exasperation. "He'll be all right. We've all done—" Peter's hand clamped over her mouth and she said no more._

_Imagine Mum's surprise when the doctor said, "You should be a surgeon, Peter. I've done worse work than this. How did you learn?"_

_Peter's eyes filled with tears, but his voice shook only slightly as he said, "I suppose I have a natural talent." We all know better. He's set my nose nineteen times in Narnia, not to mention centaur legs and even a leopard's jaw. We were hardly going to tell the doctor __that__._

_It's so __hard__ to be a child again!_


	2. Chapter 2: Sensation at Hendon House

A/N This is my first fanfic ever, so please be patient with any flaws in the story! If you don't like something, please tell me!

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Again, I am not C.S. Lewis or anything like him. I do not own Narnia or any part of Narnia that remotely seems to be in books or movies. I do own the other boys of Hendon House.<strong>

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><p>Edmund Pevensie was a strange boy. Oh, and his brother Peter was, too. It was the only thing the boys of Hendon House could agree on.<p>

The other boys sat down one day before history class and compared notes. The Pevensies studied together, walked together, ate together, and talked together. That was the extent of Randall's observations.

Newkirk had discovered that they roomed together, talked gibberish together, fought together like cats and dogs, loved each other fiercely, and stayed up 'til all hours of the night.

Johnson was convinced that they were intelligent but raving madmen. He had seen, firsthand, Peter chasing Ed down the hall wielding some sort of heavy stick. Ed, for his part, had a similar stick and was dancing up and down the hall out of Peter's reach.

The caucus was interrupted when the boys in question came in and sat down.

"Will someone give me the line of England's kings?" the teacher asked in the course of the lesson. Edmund's hand shot up.

"King Frank the first, then—"

Peter Pevensie cleared his throat.

"Oh, right. Well, then, um, I'm afraid I don't know, sir." The rest of the class snickered, and Edmund's cheeks colored, but he did not sulk or get angry.

The next day at lunch, a new item was added to the steadily growing Pevensie watch list: they didn't know their history. Sure, they knew everything about medieval battle tactics, everything about gems and alloys, and everything about sword fights, but they were sorely lacking in English history. They also converted pounds and shillings to Lions and Trees before making a decision to buy anything.

Newkirk decided to follow them around one day and listen to their conversation. His roommates stayed up far into the night listening to his report.

"They talked snippets of poetry: 'As lands the lion,' and some sort of 'fawns and satires.' What do you make of it?"

"Fawns are baby deer, I know," replied Johnson, the "biologist." "Satire is stuff like Jonathan Swift wrote. You know, things that make it seem you approve but written in a way that it's obvious you don't. Strange poetry. What else did they say?"

"They call each other kings. Ed mentioned a witch and Pete said not to worry; she can't harm him here. She's really tired, anyway, from what I gathered—she's jaded. That's the word he used."

"I think there's something behind all this that we don't know about," Randall announced. Eight heads looked up and eight pairs of eyes rolled.

"Really, Randall," Douglass replied patronizingly. "You don't honestly think _normal _people would do these things, do you?"


	3. Chapter 3: The Pevensie Watch List

**Disclaimer: Once again, I think it is obvious that I am not the genious C.S. Lewis was. I own nothing which is in the books, nothing which is in the movies. I do own the boys of Hendon House, my own creations.**

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><p><em>Dear Diary:<em>

_I think we're an oddity here. We're being followed everywhere we go, and it's rather annoying. Even in Narnia with our bodyguards and courtiers we never had such a problem. At least our courtiers didn't slink and skulk in shadows and bushes._

_I've a sneaking suspicion that Newkirk is the ringleader. I've caught him staring at me and writing in a notebook. Add to that the fact that his name is directly below mine on the rugby sign-up list, that he and his friend sit close to us at lunch, and that I've seen him outside our door when I open it unexpectedly—twice. He'd probably be charged with espionage if King Edmund the Just had a crack at him._

_Oh, wait. I'm not Edmund the Just anymore—instead I'm "just Edmund." And Pete is most certainly anything but magnificent._

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><p>Edmund Pevensie closed his leather-bound notebook with a sigh and surveyed the park. It was empty, but a slight rustle of leaves behind him told the Just King everything he needed to know. <em>If Newkirk sees what I've written—<em>

The second youngest Pevensie shuddered and rose to his feet. He spent a few moments in a swift glance around, then took to his heels in the direction of his room. Newkirk rose from the bushes and watched his precipitate retreat in awe. Even he, quick as he was, could not have overtaken him.

The "Pevensie watch list" was growing longer. After the boys raided their bedrooms while the two were brushing their teeth, two more items were added: Peter kept a journal chock-full of weird poetry and stories, told as fantastic memories. Edmund had a wrinkled drawing of a lion under his pillow, signed "Lucy." And to top it all off, Edmund Pevensie wrote love poetry!

Johnson only had time to copy down two verses of it, but the self-appointed Watch Committee snickered over it for hours.

_The stars are beautiful, my Love, for Thou hast bid them shine._

Here a line had been scratched out, but the poem went on.

_The singing brooks spout forth Thy praise in this their gladsome rhyme.  
><em>_But over all, yea, far above, in all-surpassing splendor,  
><em>_Is Thee, my Love, My Soul, my Life, my Guide for e'er and ever._

_Thou laid Thee down for me, a worm, so wretched e'en to me,  
><em>_Thou laid Thee down so willingly, so patiently, so free.  
><em>_A deeper Magic than was wrought in this the darkest hour  
><em>_Has raised Thee up to live again, to go to war and conquer._

It was, admittedly, strange love poetry—like trying to impress a girl by telling her how tall and strong she is and how short and spindly you are. But it was another item in the List, and the Committee felt that they were steadily discovering more evidence. For what, no one could have said.

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><p>Did anyone catch the fact that the poem is written to Aslan?<p> 


	4. Chapter 4: Coming Holidays

**Disclaimer: I am a decidedly-less-than-wealthy girl from a decidedly-less-than-wealthy family who has absolutely no connection to C.S. Lewis, any affiliates to aforementioned author, or Narnia at all. Aside from that, anything you do not find in the books or movies is mine.**

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><p><em>Dear Diary:<em>

_Exams have been a long and exhausting ordeal. Narnian history is easy to remember, especially when I __was__ a good portion of that history. But English history is much harder. Narnians remember notable dances and feasts. Here, we remember who killed who and on what date and what war it led to and who won and why._

_But exams are done and Pete and I are leaving for home in a few days. Su and Lu will meet up with us and we'll finish the last of the trip together._

_From Lu's letters, it seems they've been having trouble with prying schoolmates too. They are more open about their Narnian experiences, though—told in the form of fantastic fairy tales. (For some reason, the story of Rabadash ends with him turning into a frog. I know perfectly well where Su got the idea, but it seems rather ridiculous to me. Imagine a prince __turning into__ a frog! Isn't it the other way round? A donkey seems much more reasonable and believable.) _

_I can just imagine Newkirk going into convulsions of laughter over Edmund Pevensie's rendition of "How the Galmatian Princess Wooed the Magnificent High King." I can also imagine Peter beating me to a pulp for reminding him of her, and I can further imagine the teasing that would come from Peter's trying to shush me up. No, I'll leave the storytelling to the girls._

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><p>The holidays were coming quickly, and Peter Pevensie and his brother-that-was-really-younger-than-he-but-treated-with-utmost-respect were looking forward to leaving school and going home. (The long, tongue-twisting title comes from an item in the List.)<p>

The Committee, as the boys liked to call themselves, were _not_ looking forward to the holidays. It would be several weeks before they could regroup and resume their scrutiny of the inscrutable Pevensie brothers. The Watch List now numbered two-hundred and twenty-three items.

Edmund, for his part, called them the Busybody Society and Peter tended to agree, despite the fact that he always scolded Edmund sharply for calling his enemies names. According to High King Peter the used-to-be-Magnificent, "Courteous words or else hard knocks are a warrior's only language." It was a phrase he used often during the Golden Age, and, unbeknownst to any of them, even the last King of Narnia would quote him ages and ages of Narnian years hence.


	5. Chapter 5: Welcoming Guests

**Disclaimer: If I am writing this story on a fan-fiction site, I think it is obvious that I do not own Narnia or any characters pertaining thereto. Mrs. Thomas is my own creation, as is Princess Ileana.**

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><p>Helen Pevensie looked about the station. The train was due to arrive any minute now, and her darlings would be home for the summer. She had missed them while they were away, even if their demeanor did puzzle her sometimes. She often told herself that she would not be at all surprised to find out that her children had switched places on her and these strange children who called themselves hers were actually royalty.<p>

She was lost in a train of confused thoughts when she heard a shriek. "Mummy!" screamed Lucy, and she was enveloped in her children's arms. These were her children: there was no doubt about it. How silly she was to imagine them switching places!

"Oh, I've missed you," she told them, heartily embracing Susan and Peter before remembering that Edmund did not like to be made much of. She hesitantly pecked him on the cheek and was flabbergasted when he threw his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. Perhaps this was the look-alike, after all. It was unnerving to think about it.

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><p>"I have a friend I'd like you to meet," Helen told them as they drove home. "She's coming over for tea today, and I hope you will treat her kindly as my guest."<p>

"Of course, Mum," Peter replied seriously.

"Have we met her before?" piped up Lucy.

Helen was expecting Edmund to say something sarcastic like _Of course not, silly goose. She __said__ we needed to meet her, right?_ All he actually said (patting Lucy's hand affectionately, no less) was, "Yes, have we, Mum?"

Helen shook her head. She could not trust herself to say a word for fear that she would laugh hysterically. _These cannot be my children. They're too nice to each other. Boarding school never does that to siblings._

But by this time they were at their house, and the boys took the girl's luggage and brought it upstairs. Then they came back down for their own bags.

_These are definitely not my children. Or, if they are, I must remember to thank that professor for teaching them such wonderful manners._

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><p>Tea time was an awkward time for Helen. Mrs. Thomas came over as expected, and the four Pevensie children lined up to meet her. Helen was secretly proud at how they stood—straight and erect, shoulders back, chin up—and yet at ease.<p>

Susan and Lucy stepped forward and…and curtseyed—beautifully. Helen could not believe her eyes. The days of curtseying were long past. A firm and simple handshake always sufficed. Mrs. Thomas, however, was charmed.

"Treating me as if I were royalty!" she chuckled.

Peter and Edmund advanced next. Edmund…well, Edmund bowed stiffly and formally, as if he were condescending to meet the Queen of England. Peter took Mrs. Thomas' outstretched hand in his, bowed his head over it, and, to Helen's astonishment, _kissed it_.

"Welcome to our humble abode, Ma'am," the boys said in unison, and Peter continued, "I trust we have everything furnished to your satisfaction, milady?"

Edmund cleared his throat.

"Oh, right. Well, I suppose we should leave you and Mum together," Peter said hastily.

Mrs. Thomas beamed. "Such charming children! We would _love _to have you join us!"

"Do remember yourself, Pete," Edmund hissed to his older brother, following the two women into the kitchen. "Pull yourself together! You aren't a king anymore—you're a teenager who shouldn't even know how to _pronounce_ 'milady'!"

"In that case, I seem to remember you saying, 'humble abode.' For your information, you _do not_ know what an abode is."

"I'll remember that, Pete."

"And another thing—don't be so stiff and formal. She's here for tea, not to negotiate an alliance by marriage."

If there was one thing Peter Pevensie (Magnificent or not) hated, it was having girls pester him for dates, help with homework, marriages, or alliances. Being the kind-hearted soul that he was, he only objected in the case of dates or marriages. Help with homework he was able to give, and alliances he could carefully negotiate, but the though of spending more than an hour with a moonstruck girl was enough to drive him mad.

"Like Princess Ileana?" asked Edmund, skipping several steps ahead of Peter.

A cold, deadly look came into Peter's usually calm blue eyes. "Ed, if you mention that name _one more time_, I will personally bite your head off."

At that moment, Mrs. Thomas was saying, "Helen, what well behaved children you have. So kind and polite, especially to each other."

_Oh, _thought Edmund, _if she only knew._

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><p><em>AN: I hope this chapter is longer than the others have been! Enjoy, and please review. It does help me improve._


	6. Chapter 6: Keeping Up Appearances

**Disclaimer: C.S. Lewis never had to issue a disclaimer, did he? If I were he, it would save me a lot of trouble. But, alas, I am not Lewis and I do not own Narnia.**

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><p>"Pete, are you asleep?" Edmund whispered in the dark.<p>

"Yes," mumbled Peter from the other bed.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"I'm sleeping, Ed."

"I am going to whisper one small word that will wake you up now and give you nightmares when you do fall asleep."

Peter turned over. "_Please_ don't mention her, Ed," he pleaded.

"I won't if you wake up."

Peter woke up.

"All right, I'm awake; fire ahead."

"We can't go on like this, Pete. Little by little, we're giving everyone clues as to who we really are."

"Oh, and you think Newkirk will wake up one day and guess that we've been to Narnia? He couldn't care less about the other planets, let alone other worlds! I know it was your responsibility to divert disaster, Ed, but I think you're a little paranoid about this."

"What about Mum? We'll be living with her all summer, Pete. She'll notice something different."

"What do you suggest we do?"

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><p>The next morning Helen went downstairs to find the kitchen empty. For the past week, the children had all been downstairs making breakfast when she arrived. <em>Strange, half-past seven and no sign of them.<em>

The children, as she called them, were actually all sitting on Peter's bed, discussing their strategy to appear normal.

"I'll play with my dolls, I suppose," Lucy said with a resigned sigh.

"I'll go to the movies," Susan suggested.

"The movies!" gasped Peter. "Ed, why didn't we think of this! Su, is there any fantasy movie playing? If Mum gets the idea we're only acting like the characters, all our problems would be solved."

"Acting for a full year like characters in a film that came out last week. Nice try, Pete."

"Are you actually saying," Susan asked slowly, "that you _want_ to see damsels in distress, fainting in the arms of handsome princes frantically calling them 'my love, my darling, my sweet' in their 'tender anxiety'?"

Peter squirmed just thinking about it. "All right. Lu, play with your baby dolls, and Su, you go to the movies. I'll cut the grass and Ed—what will you do?"

"I'll be underfoot. Lu, do you mind if I come in and irritate you?"

"Not at all, as long as you don't actually play dolls with me, you understand."

"Our royal person is not accustomed to playing with baby dolls," Edmund replied in an aggrieved tone. "We shall require your full and free apology before resuming our conversation with you and our royal siblings."

"Stop that! You'll get in the habit again. It was hard enough to break you of it!" hissed Susan.

"We'll have a fight in the back yard," Peter decided. "What will it be about?"

"Not over my baby doll that Ed's going to take," put in Lucy. "You never defended me like that before, so don't start now."

"I can try to take over the grass cutting," Ed suggested.

"Remember, you used to shirk any and all responsibility, not ask for more," Peter disagreed. "You can run in front of me and I can yell at you for always getting in the way."

"Always getting in the way and never thinking of anyone but myself," Edmund said approvingly.

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><p>"Shut UP!" screamed Edmund, jerking Helen out of her book. "Goody two-shoes! You think I care if you tell Mum? I'll do what I like, never mind who—"<p>

"Why, you little—" Peter interrupted, and Edmund's protests were reduced to muffled noises. "You're always getting in the way! Why can't you ever think of anyone but yourself? You're so selfish!"

For some reason, it seemed to Helen that she had heard those exact words somewhere else. She rushed to the door and saw Peter wrestling Edmund to the ground.

"Stop!" she cried, running to Edmund's defense. "Peter, stop this minute! Stop, stop at once!"

Peter stopped and let Edmund get up, panting a little. "Mum, he's so selfish! Why can't he ever think of anyone but himself?"

Now she was sure she had heard those words before. _Why can't you ever think of anyone but yourself? You're so selfish! You could've got us killed!_

"Stop it!" she snapped, knowing as she spoke that she was saying something she had said before. "Edmund, come with me. Peter, finish cutting the grass. You should be ashamed of yourselves, behaving like children!"

As she pulled Edmund toward the house, she was sure that she saw them exchange a sly wink.

_It was too perfect_, she thought. _It erupted so suddenly, and they were quoting themselves, almost as if from a script. Now they wink at each other. If this isn't a trick of some sort, I'll eat my Sunday hat—yes, the one with the cherries on it!_


	7. Chapter 7: Making Truth a Fairytale

**Disclaimer: I do not pretend to own Narnia. Only Aslan really does that.**

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><p>Edmund threw on his hat and ran out the front door, nearly tripping over Lucy, who sat on the step, looking into the faces of a crowd of small, bright-eyed children.<p>

"Oh, Lu," he groaned, "please don't tell me you're telling _them_ stories, now, too! We'll never live it down!"

Visions of schoolmates hearing the stories from distant cousins of the children sitting on the lawn flickered through his head. It was not a pleasant thought.

"It's all right, Ed," she replied. "I change the names whenever I tell one. Today, by popular request, it's the one about Princess Ileana."

Edmund could not help smirking in spite of himself. He glanced in the direction of the park before sitting down on the step beside her. "Pete's playing football and he won't be back for at least an hour. Fire ahead; mind if I listen in?"

"Not at all; you can put in whatever I forget." To the curious children she added in a louder voice, "I've told the story to my dolls so many times that Ed, who is _always_ eavesdropping, has it memorized."

A small titter ran through the little audience, and Edmund bowed good-naturedly. He did not doubt that his "memorized" version of Lucy's story would sound so different as to be almost unrecognizable as the same one she was telling now, despite the fact that he had heard her telling it to her dolls once or twice.

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><p><em>Once upon a time, in a faraway land, in the days when brave knights roved the land in search of dragons to conquer and ogres to slay, there lived four Kings and Queens, siblings all.<em>

_The eldest king, Paul, was the Magnificent High King over all the rest. At his left sat the gentle Queen Suzanne, at his right the just King Edward. The youngest queen, Eloise the Valiant, sat at the left of the Gentle Queen._

_In those days King Ethan of Galma in the Seven Isles sent an ambassador to the court of—_

"What do you want the Kings' and Queens' country to be called?" Lucy asked, spoiling the magic of the story for Edmund, to whom it was like news from home, and eliciting groans of dismay from her audience.

"The land of the four Kings and Queens," one particularly imaginative girl suggested.

"Richland," the one little boy in the crowd recommended.

"Narnia," proposed Edmund.

"Yes, yes, call it Narnia!" the children chorused.

Lucy inclined her head gracefully and resumed the story.

—_sent an ambassador to the royal court of Narnia desiring High King Paul to take his daughter, the princess Ileana, in marriage._

Here Edmund unsuccessfully stifled a giggle and Lucy pinched him.

_King Paul, being the gracious monarch he was, commanded his swiftest ship to sail to the Seven Isles and bring the princess to him._

"I say, Lu," put in a shocked Edmund, "why don't you tell it the way it really, ahem, the way you always tell it? It makes it much more interesting if he's pugnacious and disagreeable."

"Please, Lucy, make him disagreeable," echoed the little boy, and Lucy nodded.

_King Paul, enraged at the way the King offered his daughter so easily, stormed out of the court. King Edward followed him out, but tread cautiously lest he should incur his elder brother's wrath._

"_My liege," quoth he, "think you it likely that an opportunity such as this should arise again soon? Our friend King Ethan thinks not only of his own land, but of ours as well. The princess Ileana is well-versed in castle business, my king. Moreover all agree that she is wise, though loquacious, and of surpassing beauty._

"_I beg you reconsider, brother, lest in your anger you refuse this generous offer and regret your decision when your days have waned and this our land is without an heir."_

"I didn't say it half as well as all that," Edmund muttered, and Lucy pinched him again.

_So the High King relented and sent his swiftest ship, the _Splendor Hyaline_, for the princess. For a week the whole of that mighty castle, Cair Paravel, was scurrying to prepare for her arrival. And at last she came, in a burst of gaiety and splendor._

_Her unsurpassed beauty was no myth. More beautiful than even the Gentle Queen herself, over whom innumerable princes languished vainly, she captured the heart of the High King._

Edmund snickered, forgetting himself a moment. "Begging your pardon, Lu," he said, "but say, rather, that her _beauty_, and naught else, captured King Peter's heart."

Lucy nodded gravely. "Alas," she replied, "it is too true. King _Paul_ was swept away by her beauty and saw nothing save her." She emphasized _Paul_ to correct Edmund, who understood perfectly and hastily turned a remarkable shade of red.

_Only once in all the Princess's visit did the King speak with her alone. He only fell deeper in love with her and begged her father to allow them to marry in all haste._

_Queen Eloise the Valiant was greatly distressed by the match, for she had spoken with Ileana at length. Yes, the princess was beautiful, but her reputation for loquacousness was certainly deserved, while her wisdom was nonexistent. She prattled and giggled about nothing and everything. Nails, dresses, and jewelry filled her head from morning to night._

_It pained Queen Eloise to no end to see her beloved brother falling in love with a woman so far below his level, and once she even spoke with him about it. But the High King refused to listen to her wisdom, and, by the Lion's mane, before the week was out he had paid for his folly, and that dearly._

The children, though clearly perplexed at "by the Lion's mane," leaned forward to take in every bit of the story as Lucy's voice sank lower.

_One night the High King walked among the flowers of his garden below the window of his lovely Ileana. She was standing before the window brushing her long, golden hair and he stood still below her, transfixed by her beauty._

_She saw him and leaned out._

"_Come," the King cried, "walk with me. We have much to speak of, and the garden is lovely at night."_

_But she shook her head and called back, "Nay, my love, but wait a little, then come to my chambers. We shall while away the night in pleasant things!"_

_The King eagerly ascended to her quarters. She opened the door and invited him in._

_Suddenly strong hands gripped him from behind and held him tight as he struggled to free himself. Ileana stood before him and smiled a cold, calculating smile._

"_Now, my king," she said. "My father wishes to know where you keep your royal treasures. By coming to me, you have saved us the trouble of an alliance by marriage to procure our desires. Tell me the truth and you shall live. Tell me anything but the entire truth and we will kill you and your siblings and take your land for ourselves. Choose you now."_

_She drew a dagger from her girdle and slowly advanced until its blade was pressed to his throat._

A collective gasp ran through the audience and even Edmund shivered convulsively. His hand crossed to his left side.

_Terrified, King Paul told her of the secret passage, the false door, and the hidden chamber. Far into the night the treasure chamber was ransacked and its precious contents carried away. Finally, as day approached, Ileana commanded Paul to be gagged and bound. Then she and her father boarded his ship and sailed away._

_It was King Edward who found the High King. King Paul told of all that had happened and begged his forgiveness for being so easily wooed._

"_My brother," replied the Just, "Chide yourself not so. For I, too, was deceived by her beauty. But lest you should repeat this your error, I shall take you to Eloise to be dealt with as she sees fit. Would that you had listened to her! All this might have been avoided!"_

"_I cry you mercy, brother," Paul rejoined. "And never shall I fall for such a thing again. From henceforth I shall follow our good sister's warnings."_

"And he did," Lucy finished. "A new treasure house was constructed behind a false wall in the throne room, and no other treasures were ever taken during the reign of the four kings and queens. King Paul and King Edward took a large army and reclaimed their lost treasures, so all was put right.

"But to this day, if you dare to mention the princess Ileana, King Paul is reminded of his shame and he will grow very, very angry."

"He _will_ grow very angry?" asked the little boy. "I though this was long, long ago."

"_And_ in a faraway land," Lucy finished. "King Paul exists only in legends now. But I told it in the way a court storyteller would."

"'Ware danger," Edmund said suddenly. "Pete's coming."

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><p>AN: I realize this may not be a very good reason for Peter to be so dreadfully touchy about Ileana, but it makes sense to me. I must confess that I did not have a story behind her when I had Edmund mention her, but I hope it meets your expectations. Please review!


	8. Chapter 8: Suspicious Activity

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, or even pretend to. None of the elements pertaining to book, movie, or anything else are mine. Only what you do not see elsewhere is mine.**

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><p>Peter was walking home from the football field when an eager little boy accosted him.<p>

"Lucy told us the story of Princess Ileana," he said. "Have you heard it?"

It took all Peter's self-control to only shrug and say lightly, "Yes, many times. I'm not particularly fond of it."

The little boy quickened his steps to match Peter's rapidly lengthening ones and said, "You know, I don't really blame the High King a bit."

Peter stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face him. "You don't?"

"She was pretty," the little boy replied. He thought for a minute. "But, now that I think about it, it _was _a stupid thing to do. I mean," he said philosophically, "if you were the King of Narnia for that long beforehand, I think you could have seen that she was after your treasures."

It was all Peter could do not to slap himself in the face. "See?" he said, sighing heavily. "Even _you_ think it was stupid."

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><p>Lucy was sitting at the kitchen table shelling peas with Edmund when Peter burst into the room. "<em>Lucy<em>," he said, almost dangerously, "why must you tell these neighborhood children about Narnia?"

"They're only fairy tales to them, Peter," she replied coolly, expertly snapping open a pod and stripping out the round green peas.

"But did you have to tell them about Ileana?" he persisted. "Even a nine-year-old told me it was stupid to fall for her! He even used the exact words, 'If _you_ were the King of Narnia, I think _you_ could have seen that she was after _your_ treasures.' Ed, no matter how much you try to convince me otherwise, they all know it to be me!"

"He doesn't know it was you, Pete," put in Edmund. "He was using 'you' in the broad sense—ungrammatically, you understand. In this particular story, we were actually King Paul, Queen Suzanne, King Edward, and Queen Eloise, and Lucy asked _them_ what to call the country. After several lame answers, _I _suggested Narnia."

"Look, Lu, I just don't want _all_ my diplomatic blunders out for the world to see!" a somewhat chastened and pacified Peter explained.

"So, how do you think I feel when she tells the story of Edgar the Traitor?"

"Or about Queen Suzette falling for the ignoble prince?" Susan called from the living room.

"Do any of you actually think they know I'm talking about us?" Lucy asked practically.

"Yes," Edmund replied, "but I certainly don't think they would imagine that they're true. They've got minds of the caliber of the Busybody Society."

Susan put away her novel and joined them in the kitchen. "You have a Busybody Society after you, too?"

"Headed by Newkirk, who fills the rest of the gang with exceedingly impossible ideas."

Helen opened the kitchen door and the four children snapped to attention. "It's all right, dears," she chuckled. "I'm not the Gestapo. Now, what's this about 'exceedingly impossible ideas,' Edmund? Planning something?"

"Not exactly," Peter answered. "Ed's trying to impress us with his extensive vocabulary. He got it from poring over the dictionary, as I understand it."

_True enough, but it was the Narnian dictionary, Pete. And you were the one who suggested it after Susan told me in front of a Colormene delegation that I sounded like Amy March. (A/N)_

"And I thought it was a good idea, so I tried it, too."

_And learned bad definitions like "foreign: as in 'Foreign as courtesy is to Ettinsmoor and a giant is to wisdom.'" _Edmund could not help but smile to himself at the thought of the gentle, bumbling ways of the good giant Rumblebuffin.

Helen smiled for an entirely different reason. It was not exactly like Peter to think any idea of Edmund's a good one, let alone try it himself, but she was not about to argue and perhaps risk another well-planned and poorly executed fistfight. "I see. So, when did you go through the dictionary?"

There was a slight pause before Lucy replied in a small voice, "While we were in the Professor's house."

Helen laughed nervously. "As strange as it may seem, dears, I feel that you became adults while you were away, even Lucy. So much happened there." She sighed.

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><p>That night, the four Sovereigns of Narnia came together in council, seated in a row on Edmund's bed. Peter began.<p>

"Our brother the Just hath reason on his side, my lieges," he said, his voice slipping easily into the court language of his older years. "For it presses upon me strongly that should we continue in the way wherein we go, our secret shall be manifested and dire consequences shall arise."

By the Gentle Queen's rights, she might have spoken next, had Edmund not taken her place.

"I call to remembrance the thing which Professor Kirke spoke of—the magic rings. Peradventure a brave soul will discover our secret, construe the truth of the matter, and use the rings for evil, as his wicked uncle the magician did."

"My Kings," Susan said, "I perceive that in this ye are too suspicious. For what manner of man would endeavor to unearth the magic rings? We shall only be as much like the folk of this land as we can be, helping the others in this undertaking, lest haply we should stumble and place our fair land in danger."

"Aye," Lucy said. "We go forward in this our endeavor, remembering the Lion to Whom we belong and the people we left behind. Come, fair consorts, let us to bed. It is late, and methinks I hear a light step on the stair withal."

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><p><em><strong>AN: For those of you who have not read **_**Little Women**_**, Amy March was constantly using the wrong word or mispronouncing the right one; as she was perfectly serious the result was rather comical.**_


	9. Chapter 9: Peter Problems

**Disclaimer: After eight chapters of _not_ owning Narnia, the ninth chapter is not magically different. It is still not mine and belongs exclusively to those who claim the rights. That being said, Enjoy!**

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><p><em>Dear Diary,<em>

_I must say Pete is getting a little hot to hold. Just last week an older boy was picking on him, and he forgot himself and challenged him to a duel. The other boy thought he was talking about a fistfight and he just jumped on him and beat Pete to a pulp._

_I thank Aslan daily that he doesn't have his sword. I can only imagine what would happen if he did have it—heaps of dead bodies, but not the ogres and minotaurs that won him his fame in Narnia. Oh, no—instead helpless schoolboys, bruised, bleeding, decapitated, dead in the wake of a desperate, frightened boy. Numerous policemen who try to stop the madman's rampage also reduced to corpses. Peter Pevensie branded a serial killer and sentenced to life in prison or worse. It's a good thing he only has his fists—and that he hasn't thought of using the bread knife._

_We go back to school tomorrow. I hope he simmers down before we leave, though I can't say there's much hope on that score. I can't excuse his behavior, even though I know what he's been feeling—longing for the heavy feel of his pure golden crown; yearning for the swinging weight of Rhindon in his sheath; even missing the soreness of a day's march and a restless night on stony ground waiting for an attack. But in a way, I don't completely understand._

_You see, I never bothered proving myself in Narnia. That was something I could never do. Aslan had made that quite clear—I could never repay Him for what He did for me. So all I had to do was be the best King I could be, knowing that Aslan had justified me. It was in my title, reminding me of my redemption every day. I knew (and still know) that the One Who called me from my own world and made me King with Him was the only one Who could make me anything at all._

_Peter, on the other hand, was constantly reminded that he was Magnificent—or rather _should_ be magnificent. And there's the rub. He set out to prove that he was, which (in Narnia) was an honorable and noble mission. Now he's so much in the habit of proving his magnificence that all he accomplishes in England is proving his own arrogance._

_Believe me, it's a troublesome thing to have "a sometime High King over all kings in Narnia, by the gift of Aslan, by election, by prescription, and by conquest, Emperor of the Lone Islands and Lord of Cair Paravel, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, called the Magnificent, now styling himself Peter Pevensie of Finchley, Lord of Absolutely Nothing" as my brother._

_To be sure, it's also rather unnerving to be "a sometime King under Peter the Magnificent in Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, called the Just, now styling myself Edmund Pevensie, also of Finchley, unnoticed and unheeded counselor of said High King."_

_Please, please, sweet Aslan, be gracious to us. Shine your face on us. Give us peace. And bring us Home._

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><p>Edmund finished writing in his journal and reached over to turn out the light. Peter was already in bed and snoring away (a bad habit he had picked up in the chilly Northern Moors). It was almost surprising how early Peter went to bed these days, Edmund thought. Here it was only twelve-thirty in the morning and Peter had been asleep for a whole hour. Perhaps his scuffle of the afternoon had tired him a bit.<p>

Edmund slipped out of his room and stole downstairs to the kitchen. A small glimmer of light under the door told him someone else was not yet asleep.

It was Lucy. She sat at the table, her feet drawn up under her, hands wrapped around a cup of warm, slightly sweetened milk. As the door opened she looked up and smiled.

"Can't you sleep, either?" she asked.

"Hardly. I've enjoyed being together." He poured the rest of the milk from the pan into his own cup and joined her at the table. "Doesn't it seem that just when we've grown accustomed to a way of life, something changes?"

"Aye," Lucy agreed, serious now. "But I think that's all part of Aslan's plan. We sha'n't be of much use to Him if we are always comfortable. We grow by being tested."

It seemed to him that she was always telling him something like that, and Edmund sighed. "I just wish Peter would grow more into the High King he used to be and less the petulant boy he's becoming."

"He'll grow, Ed. Just give him time. One day he'll come to himself, and there will be no stopping the growth of the man within." Her confidence somehow gave him hope.

"He wants so badly to go back," he said. "I wish there was some way—I say, Lu!"

"Hush!" Lucy whispered frantically. "If you're so noisy, you'll wake Mum, and you know how she is when she hasn't got enough sleep!"

"What about the magic Rings?" Edmund asked, subdued.

"What about the _what_?" Lucy nearly choked. "Are you insane? Ed_mund_, you know that we'll only get back to Narnia when Aslan calls us. Besides," she added practically, "you aren't even guaranteed that you would get to Narnia. You could end up in a horrible place like Charn, and we all know what happened there."

"You know, Lu, somehow, I can't hate the Professor for waking her, even after all she's done. I did much the same thing."

"But, Ed, there's no need to repeat his mistake! Surely you wouldn't be so foolish as to—oh, Edmund, why couldn't you have been the Wise instead of the Just?"

"Calm yourself, Lu. I won't do anything with the Rings."

"If you do," Lucy threatened in a voice of deadly calm, "I will call down the wrath of Aslan upon you and ask Him to make you sleep on red-hot coals with blocks of ice at your feet. I will call you the Ridiculous to your face and to your friends, _and_ to that Busybody Society of yours."

If any man was ever fortunate enough to call Lucy his wife, Edmund decided, he had best tread very carefully when she was angry.

"I won't, in the Name of Aslan, Son of the Emperor-Over-The-Sea. Promise."

And the Just and the Valiant smiled and each downed their milk as a toast to the other.


	10. Chapter 10: Newkirk's Observations

**Disclaimer: It has come to my attention (several years ago, in fact) that I am in no way connected to the Chronicles of Narnia or any of its characters. Only the ones (namely Newkirk) that are my own creations belong to me.**

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><p>Newkirk was striding purposefully toward the train tracks to wait for his train when he heard what sounded like an awful fight.<p>

Pushing to the front of the crowd, he looked down, and amid the flurry of arms, fists, and legs, he saw the last person he expected to see—Peter Pevensie himself, being pummeled by at least two boys. Edmund came hurtling out of the crowd and managed to get one boy distracted from Peter before the police arrived.

Newkirk stationed himself as close to the Pevensies' bench as he could to hear their conversation without being seen.

"You're welcome," Edmund told Peter, eyes angry and troubled.

Peter looked down at his brother in disdain. "I had it sorted." He stood up and wandered over to the track to look for the train.

"What was it this time?" the older sister asked, annoyance and disgust in every word. (Newkirk reflected that the Pevensies never mentioned that they had a good-looking sister.)

"He bumped me," Peter replied, as if that explained everything. Newkirk reached for his notebook—this was a golden opportunity to add on to the Pevensie Watch List: 'starts fights because others bump into him.'

"So you _hit _him?" the littlest Pevensie asked, her voice disbelieving and her face disappointed.

Newkirk was so busy writing down this new development that he only came back into the conversation when Peter said, "Don't you ever get tired of being treated like a kid?"

Edmund said exactly what Newkirk was thinking. "Um, we are kids."

"Well, I wasn't always," came the reply. Peter went back to sit with his siblings, defeated. His youngest sister (whom Newkirk thought was kind of cute) stroked his arm, understanding. "It's been a year," he went on, his voice catching. "How long does He expect us to wait?"

"I think it's time to accept that we live here," the older girl said practically. At least, it would have been practically had any of what they were saying actually made sense.

Then the train roared in, stopping in front of them. The Pevensies were on their feet in an instant. But there was something different about them, somehow. Peter was no longer the selfish, grumbling boy he had been. The girls and Edmund looked almost older, as if they had aged in their talk with Peter.

They all stood there for a moment, almost dazed, before another boy looked at the oldest girl and said, "Aren't you coming, Phyllis?"

The foursome looked at each other and hurried to join the train. But as he looked for a seat, Newkirk heard Ed say, "Do you think there's any way we could get back? I left my new torch in Narnia!"

They all laughed heartily at this, as at a joke only they could understand.

Perhaps this was right, because Newkirk could not understand at all.

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><p><em>Dear Diary,<em>

_It's been a most extraordinary three months since I wrote here last, even though it was only last night. We went back to Narnia. Apparently Caspian called us out of our world by blowing Su's horn._

_I had always loved the stories of Arthur's reign, especially the endings that said that he would return one day. Now, I have nothing but pity in my heart for the poor king when he does return._

_It's been 1300 years since we left. The Telmarines took over and drove the Narnians into hiding. It's ever such a long story, so I'll only write down the most important parts._

_. . . . . . . . . . _

_(Twelve pages later)_

_. . . . . . . . . ._

_And that's the story. We walked through the tree and found ourselves back at the station. I am sure that his talk with Aslan did Pete worlds of good, for when someone purposefully smacked into him on the train, hoping to start a fight, all he did was smile and say, "Sorry." Ah, it's nice to have the old Peter back._

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><p>"So, Pevensie," Newkirk said casually after football practice, "I hear that you've not always been children."<p>

Pevensie looked at him curiously and chuckled. "And why do you say that?"

"Why, you, you _said _it."

"_I_ said it?"

"Peter said it."

"What, exactly, did Peter say?"

"That he wasn't always a child and it's been a year and 'how long does he expect us to wait?'"

"How long does who expect us to wait for what?" Edmund asked. There was a reason he was Master of Rhetoric during the Golden Age.

"He didn't say."

"Newkirk, tell me, is it _logical_ to think that Peter would say that?"

"Well, no."

"And _when _did Peter say this?"

"Right before the train arrived."

"Oh, he said it on the train?"

"No, no, he said it while you were waiting for the train."

"Really?"

"I think so."

"Newkirk, have you ever thought of getting your ears checked?"

"No."

"I suggest you do. Wait until Peter hears that you heard him say this!" He chuckled and made as if to run off.

"Pevensie," Newkirk said, suddenly pleading, "don't say anything about this, to anyone!"

"Are you sure, Newkirk? I could get a lot of fun out of this."

"I'm sure."

"All right." Edmund decided that on the whole, the conversation had been a success. They would have no trouble from the Busybody Society for at least a week.


	11. Chapter 11: Passing the Torch

**To all my dear readers:** This will be the last chapter in this Tale of a Displaced Monarch. Thank you for your kind reviews and the enthusiastic response to my first fanfic!

**I'm thinking** about doing my next fic on either Harold and Alberta's take on the Pevensies' stay in Cambridge (both book- and movie- based), or on Charn before the Deplorable Word. (I'm the sort of person who can't chew gum and type at the same time, so working on two stories would be beyond me.) Please mention your preferences when you review!

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: For the eleventh and final time, I do not own Narnia (and I wouldn't <strong>_**want**_** Calormen [may it live forever]); and I am no closer **_**to**_** owning it than the moment I began this story!**

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><p>It was a rare thing for the girls of St. Finbar's to be allowed over at Hendon House, or vice versa, so it surprised Peter to no end to find his little sister in his schoolyard surrounded by a rapt audience of his fellow schoolmates—among them members of the Busybody Society. Apparently, Lucy was spinning her stories again with an ease and grace that transported the audience to a world beyond the universe.<p>

As he walked past, he heard her voice as he had heard it so many times at the Cair—the excitement mounting as her voice became louder, then dropped down so that shivers ran up and down spines and bodies shuddered.

_And then with a flurry of blades and armor, the usurper attacked. There was no need for his countrymen's cheers to encourage him in his wild assault. Then the shouting died down, for the High King fell._

A horrible silence followed her hushed words. Boys wiped their foreheads of sweat and surreptitiously scrubbed their cheeks.

_He had fallen on his shield. Then Miraz' sword flashed high above his head, his white teeth gleaming as he bared them, as a wolf bares his fangs before he lunges at his cowering prey. But the King rolled off his shield and away from Miraz, who followed him, slashing furiously, intent on destroying all Narnian resistance with one blow._

_But he had met his match in the younger boy. With a quick reversal, the King swept his body against Miraz' legs, bringing the older man crashing down. Then all time seemed to stand still as the King rose, standing over the usurper, sword point down._

_He stood over him, waiting to deal the death blow. Then he hesitated. "What troubles you, boy?" taunted Miraz. "Too cowardly to take a life?"_

"_No," replied the King. "But it's not mine to take." And he handed the sword to Caspian._

A relieved sigh went up from her audience. Apparently they liked the King and were quite pleased to discover his chivalrous heart.

Peter knew the rest of the story—about Caspian's refusal to kill his uncle, about the battle that ensued, about chasing the Telmarines to Beruna's Bridge. He did not listen to Lucy's voice; instead, he watched the boys as they heard the story.

_And then_, Lucy finished quietly_, the four sovereigns of Narnia stepped forward. Aslan nodded to them as they prepared to take their leave. The High King grasped Glenstorm's arm as the Centaur smiled at him. The Just King said his farewells to the noble Mouse and Badger, and…_

Even after a month, Lucy could not trust herself to speak of Trumpkin without tears.

…_and the girls said goodbye to their various friends. Then they stepped through the tree and…_

She looked over at Peter, who nodded a little.

…_and…and they found themselves back in their own land._

"Now, my friends," said Lucy, "I wish to introduce you to the man who inspired the character of the High King. Peter Pevensie! Step forward!"

A murmur of amazement ran through the small group at her feet as Peter stepped forward. He inclined his head to them before wrapping an arm around his sister.

"Gentlemen," she went on, head held high, "I bring you the man on whom I based the Just King. Edmund Pevensie! Step forward!" And out of the shadows stepped Edmund, looking uncommonly shy.

Lucy looked back at the gathering. "You have before you great gifts, my friends. My brothers are noble and will teach you many things, if you will allow them."

And as the two brothers stood before their comrades, they realized that the gifts Aslan had shared with them would not be wasted in England. Had He not said that Peter had learned what he could from Narnia? For what purpose would he have learned those lessons, if not to teach others?

Truly, though not a _tame_ Lion, He was good. He had used even the most terrible pain to shape them into the men they were. Now they had the opportunity to truly live as Narnians, even if they would never return. For the One Who had called them to Narnia first surely had a purpose in calling them out.

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><p>And that's the end. I am afraid the ending might be a little contrived, but it is the best I can do.<p>

I always thought that _not_ sharing the lessons they had learned would be the worst thing they could do.

What do _you_ think?

~lovenarnia


End file.
